txolops Chapter 70 The Insurmountable Gap
Chapter 70 The Insurmountable Gap
Watanabe walked out from the first floor of Yintai Building.
The evening breeze brushed against his face, but he felt a strange sense of unease.
He deliberately lowered the brim of his hat to avoid the white-collar workers who had just left the building, and walked quickly toward the edge of the square.
Watanabe stopped in his tracks before he even got close.
A long line stood in an orderly fashion beside the flowerbeds at the edge of the square.
Watanabe recognized most of the people in the group.
Many of the people queuing up were regulars at his shop, and some were even executives from multinational corporations he had personally served.
And now, these executives, who are usually extremely picky about the dining environment in the store, are standing in the evening breeze queuing to buy fried rice.
Watanabe gritted his teeth and, instead of approaching the group, quietly circled around to the side of the flower bed behind a lamppost.
This location is just diagonally behind the stall, less than ten meters away.
It will not be noticed by people in line, but it will allow them to see everything that happens at the stall clearly.
"I'd like to see what underhanded methods you used!"
Watanabe hid in the shadows, his eyes fixed on the figure in front of the stove.
He was trying to find flaws in the young man's deception.
The stall was bustling with business.
"Boss, four servings, please! All to go!"
The male customer at the front of the line scanned the code and said loudly.
"Okay, four servings!"
Wang Hai pulled out four takeout boxes and placed them on the table.
Watanabe narrowed his eyes, his gaze fixed firmly on Lin Chen's hands.
"Click".
Lin Chen pressed the knob on the gas stove with his left hand, and a dark blue flame instantly shot up.
At the same moment the flames ignited, Lin Chen grasped the handle of the pot with his right hand.
Heat the pan, then add cold oil.
Immediately afterwards, Lin Chen grabbed four free-range eggs with one hand.
"Bang."
A gentle tap.
Four eggs cracked on the edge of the pan, and the egg liquid slid into the hot oil at the bottom of the pan.
Watanabe hid behind a lamppost and sneered: "Cracking eggs with one hand, all show and no substance."
With the oil so hot, adding four eggs at once will definitely burn the edges, and the egg mixture won't heat evenly.
However, before his sneer could even finish, Lin Chen's next move completely stunned him.
The instant the egg mixture hit the pan, Lin Chen quickly flicked the gas valve.
The flames instantly shrank by half, turning into a medium flame.
At the same time, Lin Chen did not frantically stir the egg mixture with the spatula in his right hand, but instead used the curvature of the iron pan to gently flick his wrist.
The hot oil and egg mixture formed a perfect vortex at the bottom of the pan. The egg mixture that was about to burn at the edges was quickly flipped to the center, while the uncooked egg mixture in the center slid to the sides.
The whole process took less than two seconds.
The egg mixture was semi-solidified, without any burnt bits.
"This fire control..."
Watanabe's cold smile froze, and his heart skipped a beat.
In an open-air environment without modern temperature control equipment, how can one so precisely control the heat and the doneness of the egg mixture in an instant, simply by observing the smoke and listening to the sounds?
This requires terrifying experience and intuition.
Before Watanabe could react, Lin Chen had already poured the rice into the pot.
"Splash—"
With his left hand, he turned the valve again, and the fire reignited.
Lin Chen gripped the shovel tightly with his right hand and exerted force with his wrist.
The iron pot was lifted an inch off the stove.
Lin Chen's movements were not exaggerated; they didn't resemble the kind of acrobatic actions that street vendors would deliberately throw rice high into the air to attract attention.
He was only flipping the spoon at one frequency.
"Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle."
The sound of the shovel striking the wok was so even, it was like the beat of a metronome.
Watanabe stared at the iron pot, his pupils gradually dilating.
As a chef who has worked in the kitchen for thirty years, he knows better than anyone that the hardest part of making fried rice is not seasoning, but "flipping" it.
To ensure that every grain of rice is heated evenly and that the egg mixture perfectly coats the rice grains, the only way is to flip the rice frequently.
But this requires strong wrist strength and absolute focus.
In this young man's hands, four portions of rice seemed to come alive in the pot.
They tumbled and collided in mid-air, but not a single grain of rice fell out of the pot.
The moisture evaporates rapidly under high temperature, and the originally slightly sticky rice becomes dry and loose at a speed visible to the naked eye.
"This is impossible..."
Watanabe hid behind a lamppost, his back already beaded with cold sweat.
This is not some kind of lucky break.
This rhythm of flipping the wok, this keen sensitivity to controlling the dehydration of ingredients, is muscle memory ingrained in the bones after being tempered and refined in front of the stove day after day, year after year!
"Salt!"
Watanabe gritted his teeth, staring intently at Lin Chen's hand. "Seasoning!"
I'm curious to see how you manage to achieve such precise seasoning!
Japanese cuisine emphasizes precision; Watanabe even uses a small measuring spoon, accurate to the gram, when adding salt.
He simply couldn't believe that this kind of street-side fried rice could have four portions of seasoning perfectly and evenly mixed.
Lin Chen picked up a small pinch of fine salt from the spice box with his left hand.
No measuring spoons, no hesitation.
Lin Chen loosened his grip, and fine salt fell into the pot like a shower of flowers.
Immediately afterwards, the spatula quickly flipped the pot three times, and a handful of finely chopped green scallions were sprinkled into the pot.
Turn off the heat and remove from the pot.
"Four portions, three hundred and ninety-six."
Lin Chen pushed the fried rice to the side of the table, his tone calm and his breathing perfectly even.
Lin Chen packed the fried rice into a takeout box.
"It smells so good!"
The male customer in line took a deep breath, his face full of anticipation, "Boss, your fried rice is amazing! I could eat it every day and never get tired of it!"
"That's right, Brother Chen's skills are a golden brand wherever he goes."
Wang Hai replied cheerfully, then turned to scoop out the clear soup.
"Uncle, here's a spoon for you."
Tangtang sat on a small stool, took out four disposable spoons, and handed them to the male customer.
"Thank you, pretty girl."
The male customer smiled, took the bag, and left with his food.
"Next!"
Wang Hai shouted loudly.
In front of the stove, Lin Chen picked up a rag, wiped the edge, and pressed the knob again with his left hand.
"Click".
Flames leaped up, repeating the previous operation.
Watanabe, hiding behind a lamppost, was completely speechless at this moment.
He watched helplessly as Lin Chen cooked five batches in a row.
The temperature control for each pot, the frequency of each stir, and even the action and amount of salt pinched by hand are all precise!
This isn't fried rice at all; it's a cooking show!
Watanabe's legs began to weaken, and he couldn't help but take a step back, his back slamming heavily against the cold lamppost.
He tried to find a flaw.
He expected to see a bunch of cheap chemical seasonings, but all he saw were the most basic oil, salt, and chopped green onions.
He expected to see clumsy and rough operations, but instead he witnessed an extreme level of basic skill that even terrified him.
"Where did this monster come from...?"
Watanabe muttered to himself, his face deathly pale.
In those brief ten minutes of covert observation, he clearly realized a fact that filled him with despair.
That young vendor in his twenties had reached an unparalleled level in his control of the heat, the explosive power of his wrist, and his ability to capture the instantaneous state of the ingredients.
This terrifying mastery of the fundamentals of Chinese cooking cannot be cultivated by any "craftsmanship" or rigid "rules".
That's true talent, combined with rigorous training that's unimaginable to ordinary people, that forged absolute strength.
Watanabe looked at his hands.
At this moment, facing that young figure, I felt so powerless.
He finally understood why those executives would willingly queue up for his Japanese cuisine, even though they wouldn't eat there.
Faced with absolute strength, all the fancy packaging, expensive ingredients, and craftsmanship are nothing but laughable jokes.
That wasn't a roadside vendor at all.
That was the pinnacle of cooking for him, a self-important chef from Japan, who had spent his entire life trying to reach it, but couldn't even see the taillights of a car.